


Cold To The Touch

by Beep_Toast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cruel Dean Winchester, Dark Dean Winchester, King Dean Winchester, Peasant Castiel (Supernatural), Rebel Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beep_Toast/pseuds/Beep_Toast
Summary: Dean rules over his kingdom with an icy fist. When a rebel is caught, it won't end well.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Cold To The Touch

Cold to the touch. Those are the only words that could describe his kingdom. It was forever snowing, in the world out there and in the hearts of every person under his rule. It’s been snowing ever since he came into power, not a single day has the blizzard let up. He dragged a finger across his frost-covered window, wiping a line of view upon his people. He watched men and women walk slowly down the streets, their footsteps disappearing as soon as they were made. People carried large bags down the sidewalk, struggling to hold them. He smiled at that. At least his people were not dumb enough to use cars on the icy roads. He held a glass of scotch and swirled it in his hand before taking a sip. The blistering air infiltrated every part of the kingdom. Homes held frost along the floors, even saunas and fires were no match for the cold. It would rage on, maybe forever. He smirked down at the people; rumor had it the storm would end as soon as his life did. It was a hope that was acted upon, but the heads that hung in the square showed the consequences. His people hated him, but most importantly, they feared him. It kept them in their place as lowly urchins. That’s how he would always keep it. Dean would make sure of that.

He stood up from his chair. He was done watching the people, as everything was in order. Downing the scotch, Dean felt the fire burn his throat. The warmth was almost unwelcome in his coldness. The world around him was only a board full of pieces, and he was always determined to win. He knew he had been called for some business; a servant had previously entered the room to let him know. The shattered glass by the door was evidence that it was not the time. Now, he felt everything was in his control, and he could deal with whatever he had to. He left the viewing room and walked down the hallway towards the throne room, his footsteps echoing around the large castle. No one dared to speak as he approached the throne. The Frost Throne, it had been dubbed, for the icy man who resided on it. He sat down, lazily swinging his arm over the armrest. His relaxed position meant by no means that he was friendly, his emotionless green eyes cutting deep into everyone in the room. 

“What is it that you called me for?” Dean asked, his voice booming around the room. A guard stepped forward, never making eye contact.

“A man was caught leading a small ring of revolutionaries.” He spoke. Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. A man leading revolutionaries? There were people in his kingdom conspiring against him? He thought he had crushed his citizens’ spirit long ago.

“A group of conspirators? I thought the heads in the square were enough of a warning.” Dean mused. He couldn’t imagine who would try to stand against him. The first massacre had left rivers of blood that still left the ground red in places today. “Go get him.” The guard nodded quickly and motioned for a group of men to come forward. A teenage man, maybe a year younger than Dean, was struggling in their arms. He was dressed in peasantry clothing, his hair a tangled mess. A pair of silver handcuffs restrained him, just barely. Dean raised his eye at him. He was expecting at least an educated man, not street vermin. The men threw him to the floor, and he landed on the red carpeting. He stood up and stared Dean directly in the eye, flames smoldering in his own. Dean gritted his teeth. His will made him bold, and his boldness made him obnoxiously ill-mannered. “State your name and age,” Dean demanded, not looking away from his gaze. He would not be seen as a coward. He stayed silent. A low rumble escaped Dean. Anger was building in his head at him blatant disrespect. Dean slammed his fist onto the throne and thundered, “Name and age, you insolent maggot!” The man flinched back before rising back up.

“Castiel Novak, age 18.” He hissed. Dean stared him down, rage pooling in his gut. He did not tell him to stand. The fight in him was surprising; he was sure he had killed that in every one of his citizens. He loved the fear he struck into people’s hearts and the absolute power he held over them, but someone who would challenge him was new and infuriating. Dean didn’t look away.

“What were your plans?” Dean asked. Castiel smirked.

“You really can’t figure that out on your own? We were going to kill you, genius. We want the will of the people, not the will of one jackass.” Dean growled and clenched his fists. 

“You will address me with respect! You are only making your situation worse.”

“How much worse? You’re going to kill me anyway. I won’t be the first.” he spat. “You can’t stop us, not with death. Let our bodies freeze on the streets; you’ll need the water to put out the flames of revolution.”

“You think I can’t handle a few peasants? I think that’s the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me.” Dean said, regaining his composure. He could hardly believe a single word Castiel was saying. Him? Being overwhelmed by a group of dirty hicks? He was stronger than human will, especially the will of the weak.

“You’ll see. You’ll see the kingdom you have destroyed when everybody is marching to your castle. You’ll see the people you have slaughtered when you too are hung on display in the square. You’ll see the strength of freedom as you freeze in front of the cheering citizens.” Castiel growled, struggling with his handcuffs. A prophetic look was painted on his face with a smile Dean didn’t like.

“What has become of the rest of the group?” Dean turned to the guard. 

“Dead. Left their bodies on the streets.” The guard spoke. Dean nodded. He noticed as Castiel froze up, sadness dampening the fire in his eyes. Should he kill him? He should. He didn’t really want to, though. After all, he could use this as a lesson to the people. Death was becoming so common nowadays. Public torture, humiliation? No, none seemed to fit.

“Tomorrow, ring the bells and gather all the people by the river. Bind his hands and feet, smash a hole in the ice, and throw him in. Make sure everybody is there. Throw in anybody that protests as well.” Dean announced. He stood up and stared down at him. “Make him freeze or drown, whichever comes first.” Cas stared at Dean, his eyes wide. Dean grinned, enjoying the clear panic on his face. “Throw him in the dungeon for the night. Make sure he doesn’t freeze.”

He watched the guards drag Castiel away, while he called out about the end of his reign and the rise of liberty or something like that. How many people were beginning to think against him? Tomorrow would have to be a show; he wouldn’t let goddamn peasants take his power. Idiots, the lot of them. They wouldn’t be able to run this kingdom even if they tried. Their roles were peasant; disgusting, laboring peasants and that's it. Dean held all of the power; Dean was the king.


End file.
